


Pretty

by keyflight790



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Clothing, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Draco Malfoy, M/M, Stockings, Top Harry Potter, stockings kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26425645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790
Summary: Harry finds a pair of stockings in the back of their dresser.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 20
Kudos: 480
Collections: Daily Deviant





	Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Malenkayacherepakha for the beta, and for overall encouragement. I watched [this gif](https://campesinos.tumblr.com/post/48821596069) as inspiration.

Harry found them in the back of the drawer. It’s not like he was snooping, but his Gryffindor tie was missing again, and Draco had a habit of taking it with him when he went away on long trips.

The mesh felt itchy against his fingertips, but the ruffles on top looked soft and luxurious. He especially liked the bit of green that knotted on the front, a perfect little bow.

A younger Harry would have instantly assumed that these were from a past lover, one whose memory had somehow infiltrated their home. A jealous rage and an angry floo call would have followed, leading to accusations that were unfounded and unjust.

But they had been together for more than a decade, married for a year, and Harry knew Draco better than the jagged scar above his eyebrow.

So close to his birthday, tucked behind jumpers and tattered shirts, this was a surprise, and one that already had his heart racing and his cock thickening.

He couldn’t wait to see Draco in nothing but these stockings, laced with green to perfectly match his lover’s eyes.

\---

However his birthday came and went. There was a party, bigger than Harry had ever wanted, with people he considered his family flying in from all over the continent. He was happy to see them, happy to ring in his fortieth, thankful to have Neville at his side celebrating as well, taking half of the attention and cutting half of the cake. 

That night, he laid back on their bed, anxious to see Draco strut in those damnable fishnets he couldn’t get out of his head, and hopefully nothing else. Well, a black lace thong would also be nice, but he wasn’t going to get his hopes up that much.

When Draco did appear, however, it was in his sturdy black pants, the same ones he donned every night, and while he gave Harry an incredible blow job and made him come one more time with their favourite purple dildo, the stockings did not make an appearance.

Harry checked the next morning, both confused and surprised to see the stockings still in their hiding place in the back of the drawer, untouched as far as he knew.

It became a habit. Draco would head into the shower, and Harry would head to the drawer, reaching his hands in deep until they touched the stockings. His heart would race, and he’d want to yank them out and pull them over Draco’s creamy thighs, make him twirl and strut, and then return to Harry’s lap for a good fucking.

He never did, but the thought raced through his mind every fucking morning.

Draco would return from the shower, fully dressed and none-the-wiser, and Harry would have a half-hard cock and a stupid grin on his face, before kissing his husband goodbye and watching him floo off to work. 

Sometimes he’d pull himself off right there, watching the flames dissipate, or he’d wait until he was in the shower, hot water coursing down his skin while his hand pumped along his length. He’d dress, head to work and try not to think of those stockings again. 

Until the next morning.

Two weeks after Harry’s birthday, he started to consider himself properly insane. His obsession with the stockings had begun to overwhelm him. He wanted, no, needed to know when Draco was going to reveal his wicked little surprise and Harry would finally have his fantasy come true.

That morning, he watched as Draco left their room, arms full of clothes as he headed to the shower. Harry practically dove out of bed the second the door shut, wondering if he could get a quick wank out while holding the frilly fabric and rubbing his thumb over the soft green ribbon that weaved its way across the top. But when he reached into the drawer, his hand came back empty.

He glanced towards the bathroom door and was satisfied to see it still shut and the water still running. With deft fingers, he yanked out several of the old ratty shirts, winter jumpers, and discarded ties in a fury, searching desperately for the stockings he knew lived there.

Suddenly, he heard the tap turn off, and quickly packed all of the clothing back into the drawer, slamming it shut as soon as Draco entered the room.

“Kiss before I leave?” Draco said, arching his eyebrow in curiosity at Harry, trying to lean casually backwards on their dresser. “Or do you have more reorganising to do?”

“Was looking for my tie,” Harry said weakly, hoping Draco wouldn’t ask too much more.

Draco tilted his head to the right. “Still knotted to the bedpost from when we played ‘naughty boys in detention’.”

Harry grinned awkwardly. “Right.”

“Right,” Draco said, before narrowing his eyes at Harry. “Okay?”

“Yeah, erm, fine.” Harry nodded his head more times than was necessary, before leaning forward and kissing Draco on the lips. “Have fun at work, yeah?”

“You too,” Draco said, still eyeing him suspiciously, but eventually turned and headed out.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the Floo crackle and simmer, and immediately ripped the drawer from its pulls and emptied it on the floor.

\---

The stockings weren’t in the drawer; they weren’t in the next drawer below, or behind the dresser, or under the bed or in the wardrobe. They weren’t in the bathroom cabinet or between the cushions of the couch or in the spice drawer. And they certainly weren’t in the bookshelf or shoved between his Order of Merlin, First Class award and Draco’s Lead Master of Potions Certificate.

They weren’t in his desk drawer at work (why would they be?) nor were they in the twines of his broomstick that he took to the Auror vs. Ignis pickup Quidditch game. 

By the time Harry came home, he had stirred himself into a frenzy. He’d barely walked through the door before calling out, “Where are they?”

“The pot roast?” Draco asked, stunned as he put down a place setting. “It’s in the oven.”

“Not the roast, them!” Harry repeated, his eyes wide. He was sure he looked crazy.

“We’re...not expecting guests for dinner, are we? If it’s Weasley, I need to double my recipe completely.”

“Not Ron, no, no one is coming.” Harry took a deep breath, and forced himself to speak slowly. “Where...are the stockings?”

He saw something flicker across Draco’s face before the stone mask that he so often wore at work and around the Ministry took over. “I-” Draco started, before busying himself with more silverware. “I do not know what you are talking about, Harry. It’s nowhere near Christmas.”

“What?” Harry blurted. “You’re going to make me wait until Christmas?”

“No--wait---what?” Draco stuttered. “Santa’s stockings are in December.”

Harry closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding of his heart in his chest. He was not going to let himself get confused; he was not going to easily drop this. He needed this too much. “You...you know what stockings I’m talking about, Draco.”

“You won’t find them,” Draco said, his voice stern, his arms crossed.

Harry raised his eyebrows. At least Draco was admitting the existence of said stockings. “I know,” he answered. “I looked everywhere.” 

He tried to stare Draco down, tried to get him to answer the question that hung in the air, but Draco kept averting his eyes. Finally, Harry had to verbally say what he wanted. “Where are they, Draco?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your stockings.” His mind filled with images of the fabric, the lace, the bows. “I know you were hiding them, love, and I’m sorry for snooping, but I was looking for my tie.”

Draco didn’t acknowledge his statement, nor his apology, his hands aimlessly folding napkin squares into origami swans as he continued to dress the table. Harry had no choice but to continue.

“Once I saw them, I couldn’t- ” Harry felt his cock twitch. “Oh, god, Draco, I couldn’t stop thinking about you stepping into them, your delicate toes.” He had pictured it so many times as he’d reached for the stockings, his fantasies running with abandon. “How you’d pull them up past the knob of your ankle, the one I like to kiss when I’ve got you on your back and your calves against my chest.”

His husband’s eyes were still focused on the floor, but Harry could see a faint flush begin to colour his cheeks. It encouraged him to continue. “The lace, the perfect green bow, would rest right at the top of your thigh, so milky white against the black lace, and you’d look so utterly delicious.” He palmed his swollen cock. “I’d take you just like that and throw you onto the bed, kiss every inch of fishnet I could.”

Draco’s face flushed further, and he licked his lips. Harry knew his words were affecting him, no matter how hard he wanted to hide it. “If I knew where they were hiding, Draco,” Harry tried to say in his strongest, most commanding voice, “I’d strip you right here in the kitchen, pull those stockings as high up your long, beautiful legs as they would go, and bend you over our table. Fuck you so hard our plates would break when they crash to the floor.”

“Merlin,” Draco sighed in a hard exhale of bated breath.

Harry couldn’t wait any longer. He grabbed one of Draco’s hands, forcing him to drop a butter knife he was clinging to, and pushed his long fingers against the front of his trousers. He needed Draco to see, to understand just how the thought of him in those stockings affected him. 

“Where are they?” Harry asked, his voice rough. “Just tell me and I’ll Accio-”

“Thrithere,” Draco mumbled.

Harry paused, still gripping Draco’s wrist and holding him to his burgeoning erection. “What did you say?”

Draco huffed, rolled his eyes and stared at Harry as if he had suggested they drink a Riesling with their pot roast instead of a cabernet. “I said they’re right here.”

“I searched the kitchen this morning.”

“Oh fuck,” Draco said, rolling his eyes even more dramatically. “I was gone this morning, and therefore so were the stockings.”

Harry released his grip on Draco, and let his eyes wander down his husband’s frame. “Do you mean…” he let his words trail off as he admired Draco’s figure. He looked the same as always, tailored trousers, crisp white button down shirt, tie folded into an Eldridge knot and secured tightly around his neck. “Are you wearing them? Right now?”

“Yes, you oaf.” Draco’s eyes had found their way to the floor again. “I didn’t- I wasn’t sure if-”

“If I’d like them?” Harry asked with such surprise. How could he not?

“If you’d accept me for wearing them,” Draco huffed out. “I don’t wear them for you, after all.”

“Then who the fuck are you wearing them for?” Harry felt the need to roar, but tampered his volume at the last moment.

“Myself!” Draco said. “Sometimes, when I’m feeling…” he threw his hand up in the air and flicked his wrist, “you know, a bit podgy or pale or...old...” Draco made a face of disgust. “I like to wear something that makes me feel pretty.”

Harry’s cock was aching, thinking of Draco all dolled up underneath his clothes. He found his way to Draco’s backside, aligning his chest along Draco’s spine, and pressed him into the edge of the table. Nipping at Draco’s ear, he said, “Wearing stockings makes you feel pretty?”

“Don’t laugh.”

Harry wouldn’t. Instead, he let his fingers dance across Draco’s chest, still covered in clean, starchy fabric. “Do you ever wear a brassiere?” he asked, rolling his hips against Draco’s firm arse. 

“N-no,” Draco stuttered, and Harry could see that his fingers were back to gripping silverware. 

“What about a corset.”

“Once,” Draco said, the volume of his voice dropping once again into a whisper.

Harry had to close his eyes to stem off the rush of heat that coursed through his body. The thought of his husband, all donned up in black, or white, or the softest velvet blue crush, had him so aroused he could barely think straight. 

“Would you let me help you?” Harry tilted his head so his lips rested right against the sensitive tendons in Draco’s neck. “Thread the ribbon through each hook and knot it so securely right...here?” He grazed the small of Draco’s back with his knuckles and felt him shiver. 

He rolled his hips again, letting Draco know just how much the thought of helping him look pretty was turning him on. Dragging his fingers to either side of Draco’s slender hips, Harry gripped him there before running his palms down Draco’s legs.

Even through Draco’s trousers, Harry could tell the moment his hands reached the top of the fishnet stockings. He felt the ridge of lace, and with the pads of his fingers, Harry traced out the tiny green bow, the same one he’d stared at so many mornings in the drawer.

“Would you feel pretty in a skirt?” Harry asked, practically breathless. He knew he was pushing his luck; Draco had only mentioned the corset, no other items of feminine clothing, but Harry had to know.

Draco’s cheeks darkened to an almost-crimson when he finally whispered, “Yes.”

In a blink, Harry transformed Draco’s pristine trousers into an almost too-short pleated black skirt, complete with green hem. All at once, the stockings that he had admired for so long were finally on display. 

They were exactly how Harry pictured they would look on Draco; delicate, sexy, and the perfect contrast against his alabaster skin. The skirt barely held the dip in Draco’s arse, emphasizing his sculpted, muscular arsecheeks that Harry could never get enough of. 

His backside was covered by his pants, the same ones Harry had seen day in and day out, a stark masculine contrast to the otherwise feminine look. Before Harry could comment on it, however, he saw the fabric slowly transform into a black lace thong, complete with a final green bow right at the cleft of Draco’s arse.

“Do I look pretty?” Draco asked, his voice still tempered with nerves. He arched his spine, accentuating the long lines of his body, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer.

He Vanished his own clothes, along with Draco’s shirt and tie, and fell to his knees. “You’re the prettiest man I’ve ever been lucky enough to fall in love with,” Harry said, before pulling the lace thong to the side and thrusting his tongue into Draco’s needy hole.


End file.
